


nothin' the matter with your head

by vicen_non



Series: Beyond Expiration [1]
Category: Alternate Dreamtale, Dreamtale - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (Mostly Nightmare's), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Murder, Dark Nightmare, Deeply Immoral Nightmare, Dissection, Dream Is Also Fucked Up, Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare Sans Being a Jerk (Undertale), Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Gen, Grief, Immortality, Loss of loved one, M/M, Medical Procedures, Morally Ambiguous Dream, Multi, Multiversal Hub, Multiverse, Multiverse Community, Nightmare Is Fucked Up, Occult, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reanimation, Revenge Fantasies, Rituals, Self-Indulgent, Shattered Identity, Uncorrupted Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), brief flashbacks, come and get your love, completely unrepentant, does this count as a roommates au, light cannibalism, light gore, morally horrible, nightmare definitely does not have a license for all this edge, or whatever the fuck he's up to now, outta here, where did canon go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24077923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicen_non/pseuds/vicen_non
Summary: Nightmare drew a dotted line with a blue marker, humming along (out of tune) to the 80s pop playing in the background. All of his focus was on the person before him, though a part of him felt amused at his fascination. "It's been a very long time since you've began taking things apart." That low, gravely voice stated."What do you mean?" He muttered back, careful not to disturb the blanket of peace over them both. Gloved hands cleaned off a scalpel with calm and steady attention."You began with machinery first, then moved onto creatures you rather disliked."Nightmare smiled with a tinge of amusement, sardonic and wan. "You encouraged it. Now it's an obsession."A scoff. "It's a hobby."
Relationships: Dream & Nightmare, Nightmare & Dream, Nightmare & Nightmare
Series: Beyond Expiration [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737121
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It's Still You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899465) by [ShadowPorpoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowPorpoise/pseuds/ShadowPorpoise). 



> trigger warnings for all of the content ahead, spoiler warning - this fic will explore many dark themes:
> 
> \- details of surgical dissection + dismemberment (brief mentions between dialogue, can be skipped without detriment to the story)
> 
> \- shattered identity/deidentification (self-explanatory; for the fic, the other ‘identity’ will be referred to as ‘that part’, ‘a part’, but note is not a representation of DID/any form of OSDD nor is it meant to be)
> 
> \- flashbacks of trauma (mentions beating, implied murder, and implied torture)
> 
> \- cannibalism????? (it was just one finger)

Monsters, Nightmare decided, were a curious species. He supposed that he could consider himself one, only in shell, but not at soul. He was a being of energy based around emotion, most of which was siphoned off the suffering and despair of other people, and that was what he was. Simple as fact, and easy to understand. 

He gently pulled the first joint of the human's finger off. 

Humans, Nightmare thought, were equally interesting.

He carefully examined the inside of their finger, picking up a scalpel and scraping along the bared bone. This one, unfortunately, was long dead, thus could not feel what he was doing. It was a pity, considering that it would be an easy meal while he worked, but Dream disapproved of his hobbies and told him only dead ones would suit dissection.

It was a little frustrating. Surgeons were allowed to open up humans so long as they closed them as well. The humans were alive then. 

Nightmare told Dream this, and he made the face that Nightmare disliked. It was one defined by confusion and defeat. Nightmare disliked seeing Dream defeated, so he decided to stop pressing the issue.

He toyed with the muscles, smiling a little at how they flexed and moved as foretold in the biology book he read. Slowly, Nightmare began to cut at the skin, his smile falling at how stubborn it could be when he tried to peel it. 

Dream hated the smell of dead humans. He told him that they reeked very horribly. Nightmare thought they seemed lovely, were good company, and did not make faces at him like Dream did. 

Dream, of course, also made a face when Nightmare stated that. But then he laughed, in the fond way, and Nightmare was happy.

He liked the sound of Dream's laughter, Nightmare quietly affirmed. It was nicest when Dream was laughing at something he had said, because it meant Nightmare was the cause of those happy things. It felt like tiny little embers radiating from Dream's chest, when he did laugh like that, and Nightmare wanted to catch them and bottle them, so he could learn all about how to get more.

Ah, finally. 

He peels it back, the record player playing an old song that Dream liked to dance to. It was a little far from his work table, because Nightmare hated being distracted while he worked. But the song was too funky not to at least dance a little to, and he pretended Dream was sitting across from him, also enjoying and taking part in his hobby. Dancing along.

'Come and Get Your Love' was the first song they heard when they escaped their AU and came to the neon multiversal hub that housed so many other people like them. "Refugees", Dream called them, with that face he wore when he felt sympathetic. They were given an apartment in the shiny, electronic city off to the outskirts of the housing district. "Better for everyone", one of the workers said, and Nightmare tasted his derision on his tongue when it looked at him.

It was a shame his reputation far preceded their world. 

Dream dislikes when people make those expressions at him. Nightmare did love his brother for that. The disgust was melted away by Dream's distractions, and Nightmare was left in peace again to ponder how best he could take apart the merperson across the street.

When they got into their new home, shared as per Dream's insistence so "You won't kill anybody on your own", Nightmare stood around in the kitchen at a loss for what to do. Dream then unboxed the old radio player that they had been gifted by Error, and set it to a random dial. After some channel surfing, this song came on, and they danced in the kitchen.

It was nice.

Sometimes, they still do that, and Dream will make breakfast.

With precision, he saws off the hand from the wrist, and packs it away into a freezing chamber to be analyzed later. It is with great satisfaction that he notices the joint. A neat cut, he congratulates himself. 

It was a terrible, terrible shame Dream wasn't here to see.

"Still deluding yourself about him, I see."

Nightmare hummed under his breath, pausing as he placed a hand on the protruding collarbone of the human before him. "He is still here. You just don't like the way he has become."

He wished his gloves were just slightly thinner, so he could truly feel how the skin felt, stretched over muscle and fat over bone. It was fascinating, and it enraptured him to see the evidence of skeletal structures before flesh. 

He ran a thumb over it, while a part of him spoke in amusement. 

"How he has changed is of benefit to both him and yourself, so there is no logical explanation for being upset."

Nightmare smiled, in the sardonic manner that he often tried to hide when he was younger. Even now, it is a little harder to smile, but it has gotten better. He does enjoy progress. 

"You miss him, don't you?" He quietly says to himself, marking out a dotted line which to cut. He puts the marker away in his coat's breast pocket. 

That part of him, only briefly stubborn against his mental prodding, sighs and allows him to see and understand. Of course. They were never any match for the other. Now, anyway.

"He was brighter and warmer." That part of him complains, pulling the feeling of how Dream used to be when they were younger. Nightmare knew it well, and he missed how Dream would feel like a fireplace, like sitting close to a heating unit during a blizzard. The only light he could trust beyond his own.

"Now, he is... not worse, but a different Dream. A new brother." 

Dream, now, was an attuned wire of electricity. A lazy knife, the burn of a cut, digging into his arms. He was ablaze, like standing in a house fire, and watching his feet darken from the flame. 

"It was not our fault." Nightmare reasoned. "Dream changed himself because he wanted and needed to, and now he fits both of us better."

A low chuckle, and that cold numbness spreads from his upper arms and his back to his hands, as if in a cold embrace from behind. 

"I am still surprised that you accepted me so easily and became so ready to watch." That part admitted, moving his hands to switch the scalpel, and then press into flesh. 

Nightmare frowned slightly, gaining a nasty, teasing grin. "You always steal me away during the best parts."

"I am protecting you from what little is left to shield you from, sweetheart." he sighs. Nightmare can almost feel his breath breeze past his neck, and he quiets his thoughts, instead concentrating on the easy focus and precision which his hands continued to cut.

The song on the record player changed, and a guitar sang into the silence. 

While that part of him worked, Nightmare leaned back to think about that day again. He still remembered the details of the room they took him to, tied up and beaten down from his quiet reading place by the tree.

The rope still feels rough and burns at his wrists when he is very tired, and that part of him makes his hands so cold so that he cannot distinguish between feeling warm and wanting to plunge his hands into soapy water. 

They rearranged him, Nightmare remembered again. A part of him muffled the sound of his screaming, in his mind, so not to disturb the tranquil peace he felt during his hobbies. 

During that moment, a part of him, so visceral and wrathful, had shrieked and cried. Within the confines of his mind, Nightmare listened to himself, and remained silent.

Promises made up to that day, little daydreams, did come true. Nightmare was very happy, all of them were, after all of that was over. 

It was a fun meal, with a little hunt and chase. 

Nightmare looked over to the freezer, and smiled again to himself. He felt himself smile back, sardonic as always. 

Dream was a very good brother that day.


	2. on the subject of bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short extra where Dream snarks Nightmare for his hobby. Nightmare snarks back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw warnings:
> 
> \- kidnapping/planning a kidnapping
> 
> \- obviously implied murder/dissection

"That's the second one this week." Dream notes, not focusing any blame but implying some kind of social grace threatened. Nightmare raises a brow over his mug, looking down at the roach past his table, before Dream sighs and gestures at the open chest cavity before him.

His understanding must show on his impassive face, no matter how little the twitches or signs, and Dream continues. "We should really be finding better targets or something. Your hobby's showing on local news, and if we continue in this area, they're bound to go looking for us." 

He wrinkles his nose a little at the thought of any disturbances to their peaceful new life, his spoon soundlessly stirring the fresh coffee warming his cold palm. "So should we scout out a new area?"

"Maybe the red-toned one. It seems like a better challenge."

Nightmare shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee, no matter how Dream twists his expression at the tan color of the liquid. Nightmare pointedly looks at Dream's mug of hot chocolate, before lowering the mug once more. His brother stuck his tongue out at him before taking another sip.

"The Fallen District is too hostile to be scouted. It would be fun, but the 'authorities' are paranoid at best and feral at worst." Nightmare dryly responds, tipping another cup of vanilla creamer into his coffee.

The skeleton across from him utters a soft note of disgust before humming in thought, coffee only momentarily forgotten. "The clubs are good for a bait-and-catch. It's less bait and more wait for someone to pass out." He noted with a certain sense of humor. "All the people who go there to dance are blissfully filling themselves with every treat of the night, so that they remain euphoric until dawn comes again."

Feeling a little snarky, Nightmare once again raises a brow, taking a long sip of his mug. Dream, having known him for a thousand years, knows exactly what he's thinking. He scowls at Nightmare, who only smirks in response.

"I was curious."

"You were curious."

"I was."

"You're always curious."

"I am not always curious, I am easily sated."

"Yes, but then you find something else to be distracted by."

Dream points his mixing spoon at Nightmare, who leans to the side to dodge the flick of hot chocolate. "You find things to obsess over for centuries, like taking things apart and then learn to put them back together when you're finally bored."

His brother grins wanly, a striking contrast to the rest of his dark bones, still stained from that day. "No need to learn so soon when we have the time."

Golden eyes, ringed by maroon, roll up before Dream sticks the spoon in his mouth and then tosses it into the sink with a clatter. The corners of Nightmare's mouth dip downwards briefly at the noise, but the grievance is forgiven as soon as it happens. "You mean, 'No need to learn how to clean up my messes because my brother will always be there to reassemble the body.'" 

Unapologetic, Nightmare looks back at his brother, taking one last sip of his incredibly sweet coffee before pouring another mug from the coffee pot. "You've put me back together before," he easily states, looking down into the darkened teal of his cup. "It wouldn't do for you to fall out of practice when I break again.”


	3. with vigor and dedication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intruder gets in, and Dream is hurt. No matter, Nightmare actually does know how to reassemble a body.

Their favorite song was still playing while the gunshots rang out.

Nightmare watched as Dream fell back, a bullet tearing through his skull and exiting through to the other side. He had already moved to dispose of the attacker for later, leaving them bound on the floor and unconscious. They would talk with him later, in the basement, when he was done taking care of their friends. How rude of them to assume only one was needed to finish this job.

“Not so immortal anymore, you think?” One of the intruders laughed outside of the apartment, down on the street, in the parking lot. It was holding a phone up to an ear, dressed casually in civilian clothes. They wouldn’t protect it from him. Nightmare had stepped outside after propping his brother up against the wall. The bullet was still lying on the rug, drenched in golden ambrosia and sap, a vital component to Dream’s revival later. Later, everything later, because disposal was now. 

Streaks of blood ran down the manifestation of his thoughts, aided by the wild satisfaction and wrath pulsing behind one of his eyes. It was easy to ignore the slight discomfort radiating from it, how it overflowed with blood lust and grief, dripping down to his chin. Nightmare remained where he was, standing by the railing, watching as darkness swallowed the man by his car, tearing him apart like a thousand hungry mouths aching for despair. 

Good. Good.

He had been hungry, cooped up in this little apartment.

Nightmare heads back inside, ignoring the aching hole in his forehead as it reseals while he feeds, and picks up his brother - so much taller than him, now. It was unfortunate for the other half to be returned to one of their older forms, so that he might regenerate properly. With his brother carefully cradled in an arm, Nightmare bends down to pluck the bullet off the rug, as another one shatters the glass in the window. 

He quietly pops the dusty bullet into his mouth, before gently, carefully breaking off one of Dream’s fingers. He eats that as well, and takes his brother’s circlet, tucking it safely away in a hidden compartment, while the shell fades away. More bullets break the windows, and he allows for that wailing, wrathful part of him to consume all control.

* * *

  
Dream isn’t the type to be caught unawares, but every thousand years or so, a mistake can slip through.

He stirs on the cold, thin mattress and its cheap linen, bullets ripping through several places on his body. Dream looks down at his arms and legs, then his rib cage, noting them unmarred and definitely smaller, before frowning. His circlet was resting atop his head as usual, a comfortable weight (that could be removed, but never abandoned permanently), but someone more important was missing. 

Standing swiftly, pausing to gather his balance and become stable on his new feet, Dream stumbled on new legs to his basement door, face wrinkled at the stale scent of chemicals and bodies in stasis. Clearly, the ritual had been a success, considering that he was here, but now he needed to nurse himself back to health so that he could bear the cost of raising his brother back before the balance was tipped too heavily beyond repair. 

If he could just get to the kitchen first.

Dream leaned against one of the walls, cursing how short his legs have become. This was, perhaps, the tenth time in all of his sectioned lifespans that he's been reborn into a previous body, so that he can return to a desired image. Unfortunately, the ritual has decided to throw him into his child body, so now he stumbles about like a newborn lamb. He twists open the doorknob, his senses too dulled to notice the horrified neighbors standing around in their living room before they see him.

"Dream?" One of them whispers, blue gloves over his mouth. The poor thing is sickened, and Dream knows Nightmare would be relishing in the acidic nausea. If he were here.   
  
"Hello, Blue." He responds kindly, smiling about as best he can. "I'd make you a pot of tea, but as you can see, I am a little incapacitated."  
  
  



End file.
